Priestes Of The Moon Novels & Stories

It was a display of absolute power—and as a wolf-less outcast, it was a stark reminder of everything I lacked. ​The High Priest entered the center ring, draped in pristine white robes and flanked by twelve elders. Everyone stood in unison, the rustle of heavy fabrics filling the air before settling into a profound, breathless silence. ​The High Priest raised his heavy silver staff, the metal catching the moonlight streaming from above. "Tonight, we honor the ancient peace forged by our ancestors," his voice boomed, amplified by the hall's perfect acoustics. "The Moon Goddess blesses every pack equally. No bloodline stands above another beneath her celestial light."

Orav can't see behind the wall of vines, but she heard the child's cry as well as the weeping of the mother and that made her feet colder than it already is. Then, her mind felt a poke. A soft one, at first, but it quickly became a jab when she attempt to block the link. Her wrath resurfaced when she heard the voice. And slowly, the large beast approaches her, golden eyes slits with hunger. "Aidi tur'as kaisi, Bayah?" Can't you see it, Bayah? His voice is cold and taunting, addressing her for the rightful title in their native tongue. Bayah. The highest oracle. The conduit of the moon's power. Yet, as respectful as her title was, he say it with such mockery.

The heartbeat of the supernatural universe. “Are you ready?” she asked. But it wasn't really a question. It was a declaration. A supernatural destiny was about to unfold. And I was at the center of it. The transformation was intense. My supernatural core—whatever that was—was being rewritten. Restructured. Transformed. Magical frequencies that had always existed just beyond my perception were now crystal clear. I could see them. Feel them. Understand them. “Azrael, his hunters, and rogues,” the Moon Goddess said. The words hung in the magical space. “They are more than just a threat.”

They learned to balance their responsibilities to their packs with their own desires and aspirations, always finding a way to support and uplift each other. One particular challenge they faced was the return of the Moon Goddess's prophecies. The Moon Goddess had foretold of a great conflict that would test the supernatural world's foundations and threaten to plunge it into chaos. Andrea, as the Moon Goddess Descendant, felt the weight of this prophecy on her shoulders. With Jax by her side, they worked tirelessly to decipher the meaning behind the prophecies and find a way to prevent the impending catastrophe. They consulted with elders, sought guidance from ancient texts, and delved deep in

Behind her, her attendants trailed — whispering blessings that sounded more like spells. When she reached the altar, she tilted her head slightly, lips curving. “You look almost at peace,” she said softly, only for me to hear. “I’m not,” I replied. Her smile didn’t falter. “Then pretend. For them.” The Moon Priestess lifted her staff. “By the light of the Moon, we witness the binding of Alpha Killian of Howlborne and Lilith of the Northern House, in unity and purpose. May this bond restore the balance and calm the storm.”

It never was. “Tonight,” the priest said, his voice carrying easily through the hall, “we stand beneath the gaze of the Moon Goddess.” The Moon Goddess did not choose lightly. What she gave was not meant to be undone, not without consequence. Everyone in the room understood that, even if no one spoke of it aloud. No one moved, no one spoke. Even everyone's breathing seemed quieter. “She sees what we do not,” he continued. “She binds what cannot be broken. She chooses what must be.”

A wide smirk on her lips as she rests her hand on her hips lazily. “Moon Goddess” Kane grits out. “Actually, it is Selene,” she said, still smirking. “Nobody cares about your name, bitch,” he said. Selene laughs softly. “When you said that I am not your creator, who is?” she asked, looking him in the eyes. Everyone waited for his reply. He made them all believe that she was not their creator, so who was their creator? “It doesn’t matter who is our creator, but we refuse to be controlled by women!” he yelled. All his men cheer, backing him up.

8% Match. Beneath the number, old images of hand-written scrolls began to load onto the screen. The drawings showed ancient women standing under a full moon, their hands glowing with the exact same silver-violet lightning patterns that were currently etched into the skin of my arms. They weren't called 'Anchors' in the old texts. They were called the Lunar Priests—the original caretakers who held the keys to the wolves' primal energy before the Shadow Council ever existed.

A bitter, broken chuckle escaped my throat, tasting like ash. "Is this why my life has been hell? All the nights I cried myself to sleep, wondering what I had done to deserve such cruelty? All the times I prayed for mercy that never came?" The Priestess stopped near the Oracle and turned back. "The Moon Goddess is not our creator but our guardian. When a guardian is upset, nothing can help you. Your parent, a Moon Servant, was not supposed to have a child." Levante looked confused. "What are you trying to say? Moon Servants’ descendants… are they not their children?"

She didn’t look in their direction, nor did she make any move to suggest she was aware of anything, but she knew, instinctively, that they would definitely try something stupid. The rites continued, with Damon lifting his arms devotedly, raising his voice as he called on the moon goddess to bless the pack and bind them in unity and strength. The priests and priestesses moved together too, with their staff striking the ground in a synchronized rhythm. The voice of the high priestess soon joined Damon’s own, and for a moment, the whole atmosphere seemed to be alive with divine light. The moon was directly above, brighter than ever, and the crowd murmured in awe.